Kiss with a Fist
by dytabytes
Summary: Love at first sight is for suckers. Unless it involves punching.


Chromia had been teaching at the Iaconion Military Academy for vorns when Ironhide transferred in as an instructor (only for an orn or two, just until he was recovered enough to be let back into regular service). She'd had a hope that they'd be able to sit down some time and talk strategy, but rookies were rookies for a reason, and between the extra study sessions and the roommate arguments and the _explosions_, there never seemed to be time to sit down and chat. And anyway, what with all the fuss about Ironhide's skill, the mech probably had a big head. So it was no big loss, right?

Meanwhile, Ironhide had gotten glimpses of Chromia every now and then, had heard all sorts of stories about her skill and finesse in a battle situation, but the sleek blue femme was infuriatingly hard to get a hold of. As one of the most senior members of the teaching staff, her schedule shifted faster than quicksand. She was always the first to take on classes for other instructors, always the first to supervise extra training sessions or study groups, always the first to dive into the wreckage when the first mishap of demolitions training inevitably occurred. Often, he was left wondering just how the femme found any time to recharge and, in the end, he decided that trying to snatch a piece of her time for himself was too much of a bother. She was probably a stuck-up workaholic anyway.

Both bots were frustrated, but not quite frustrated enough to make the effort to hunt the other down. They could have continued on like that forever without ever really regretting their choices. Of course fate stepped in and did the dirty work for them.

Chromia sighed happily, hunched over a cube of high-grade at the local bar.

/Mm, my first night off in... my, it's been a while, hasn't it?/

She slumped down a little more, letting her mind drift over the events of the past cycles as she smiled into her energon. As much as she loved her students, it was nice to be away from them every now and then.

Chromia's sensory nets pinged softly, having detected movement behind her. Forewarned, she didn't even twitch when a red mech thumped himself down onto the stool beside her and waved at the bartender.

"I'll have whatever she's having."

Chromia raised an optic ridge.

"That's assuming that whatever I'm drinking's gonna suit your taste."

The mech's mouth twisted into a smirk.

"What, is it gonna be too weak to give me a buzz?"

"Pfft, more like it'll have you keeled over on the floor if you're not built to hand your energon. I may be a femme, but I can hold my high-grade."

The mech smirked and nodded agreeably.

"I thought that's what you'd say. From what the other instructors say about you, you don't seem like the type to settle for airy little blenders."

"Other instru-"

Chromia frowned, then looked the mech over more closely. Recognition dawned in her optics.

"Oh. You're _Ironhide_."

The mech shrugged and smiled, optics twinkling with amusement.

"That's what most bots call me, yeah. An' you're Chromia... unless there's another tough blue femme around these parts with great taste in guns. I like yours, by the way." Ironhide tipped his head towards the sleek plasma blasters that glinted at Chromia's sides. "That's a helluva nice design."

He reached out, almost touching her arm, then hesitated, looking up to meet her curious gaze.

"Can I take a look at 'em?"

"Be my guest."

Chromia shrugged and held out and arm, about to release her blasters from their storage compartments.

It was at this point that the inevitable happened. One over-energized moron insulted another and, of course, they started fighting. And once they started fighting, their friends joined in. And then things just escalated from there into a rolling, screaming bar-fight...

Both Ironhide and Chromia's heads snapped towards the sound of the increasingly violent brawl. As one, they turned back, gazes locking. Ironhide grinned and waved a hand at the rapidly growing pile-up of snarling bots.

"You wanna?"

Chromia smirked saucily at Ironhide.

"Age before beauty."

Ironhide laughed and hopped off his stool, wading into the brawl and throwing mechs this way and that. Chromia followed, bringing her blasters online... on stun-mode of course. There was no point in wasting armour-piercing rounds on drunks.


End file.
